


How It Used To Be

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-22
Updated: 2008-04-22
Packaged: 2019-01-19 05:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12404061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: You miss the Christmas mornings you two shared together. Racing down the stairs to find mounds of presents under the tree. And you never waited for your parents to wake up; you two always opened them before they came, together. Glancing every now and then to see what she got and her doing the same. scrivenshaft challenge cycle XIV entry.





	How It Used To Be

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**A/N: Scrivenshaft Challenge Cycle XIV Entry. They never posted the results…? I don’t know. I meant to add this a while ago but never got around to.**

**But anyways, I’ll let you figure who this is about.**

_How It Used To Be_

You hear Christmas Carolers outside singing as you watch your young son open presents like a raving lunatic. You know he takes after his father because _you_ certainly weren’t like that as a kid.

When you were younger, Christmas was about baking cookies with your sister and mum, and then waiting up all night for Saint Nick to drop off presents. 

You once heard your grandmother say, “Christmas is a time when you get homesick - even when you’re home.”

You never quite understood what she meant by that. But now, now you finally realize.

You miss the Christmas mornings you two shared together. Racing down the stairs to find mounds of presents under the tree. And you never waited for your parents to wake up; you two always opened them before they came, together. Glancing every now and then to see what she got and her doing the same.

That’s what Christmas is really about. Being together, and being happy; around a genuine family who truly loved each other. 

And on those special Christmas’ when it was snowing, you and your sister would just sit on the couch watching the snow fall continually from the endless gray sky. You shared so many moments with her and especially on Christmas. When you told secrets her eyes always had a fierce sparkle to them. 

Those lovely emerald green eyes of hers.

Then, at night, when the Christmas spirit died down, until next year, she would give you a hug before going to sleep.

“Goodnight Tuney,” she always said, “I love you.”

And you would hug her back, saying the same.

Then, that one year, when she had gone her separate way, you cried yourself to sleep, sobbing uncontrollably. You missed how she would tip toe into your room and wait all night; and feeling the warmth of her body next to you, looking out the window. 

You knew it was never going to be the same. 

She did though, come home the first four years from school. She would try and act like nothing had happened, like nothing changed, but it did. You didn’t want to have anything to do with her. You didn’t feel the need to be nice to her when you honestly hated her decision.

She left you for a place that you could never be a part of and you couldn’t find it in you to forgive her.

Then, after those first four years, she had stopped coming home for Christmas. She had told your parents that she rather stay at school because she had more responsibilities this year.

What a load of rubbish.

And, that final Christmas that you saw her, she brought home a _boy._ He was tall and rather handsome, even though you would never admit it, and charming and funny. 

He was perfect; for her, and for the family. Your parents loved him and warmed up to him without even having a drink.

Not like when you brought home Vernon. Your parents talked to him but not like this. They didn’t treat him like he was their own son. 

That was the last Christmas that you ever spent with her.

The next Christmas she had sent you a letter telling you that she and James and her newborn son had to stay hidden due to some almighty wizard, or something.

And the Christmas after that, she was gone, forever this time, and you were stuck with her son. Your _wretched_ nephew—

You quickly blink as the obnoxious ripping of wrapping paper cuts into your thoughts. 

“Petunia, darling, are you alright?” you hear your husband ask.

You smile faintly, not wishing to ruin the moment by telling him what you’ve been thinking, “Yes, of course,” you tell him.

But it’s not. It’s not alright at all. 


End file.
